I can't tell you
by assyla silver
Summary: I wish I could tell you about the impossible life I lived before everything went wrong and I ended up so very alone, so very far from home.


I am a writer without a story to tell.

I want to talk about the princess who was a master at war games… but I don't have a story worth telling for that.

I want to sing the songs of the water people who were artificially created in 5036 AD… but I don't have a story worth telling for that.

I want to enact the sword fight in another universe that the fate of every living being depended on… but I don't have a story worth telling for that.

…I want to tell you about the man who inspired me to do the impossible. How I ran away and saw the stars. All of space and all of time. To experience the rotation (or stillness) of other planets attached to other suns and moons. To realize how incredibly small I am in the universe and then be stunned by the affect I could have on it anyway.

I want to tell you how he said "Trust me" And I how did.

I want to tell you how I travelled with him, and he learned everything about me. We rattled around in that box. Soaring and crashing and running all over the place. Oh, that marvelous old girl. The newest and oldest thing in all of creation. The bluest of blues that ever were.

I want to tell you how he'd tell me things in tidbits. How he stole the box, but she said she stole him. About the girl and boy who waited. The loudest redhead he had ever known. The warrior doctor and the brilliant idiot. The man who couldn't die. The impossible girl. And the bad wolf.

I want to tell you how I couldn't get him to tell me much before Bad Wolf, but I learned it anyway. I'd sometimes find him gone, off to have his own adventure, and then I'd go off to have mine within his past.

I want to tell you how it stung, the first time he left. How I was ready to storm off, abandon him the way he abandoned me.

But then… I would tell you how She showed me something. A tiny, cramped little nook under a staircase I'm pretty sure was infinite.

If I told you anything, I would tell you there were two books in there. One about his people, and one about him. Whenever he left, I would read. Devour the information. I wish I could say how I could feel Her approval as I began to use this knowledge to trick him into opening up, and telling me a story. I wish I could share my amusement about how it only took a word or two here and there to set him rambling. I want to tell you how I would commit the stories to memory, to write them down later.

And maybe, after all that, I could say "here is later, right now". Then I'd write about how I saw him save and destroy worlds, passing judgment the way only his people could. Through words on a page, I'd say that as the last of his kind, there was no one to rein him in… except for Her and me. But how can you quell the rage burning up two hearts enough to leave someone like him without regret. I'd write it as a fire, a dark, icy fire.

I wish I could tell you about the impossible life I lived before everything went wrong and I ended up so very alone, so very far from home. Now my life is as normal as it can get in this day and age on this planet in the far off corner of the universe. I don't think he knows where I am, and I don't think he'll find me before the locals decide I'm too foreign for their taste.

I wish I could tell you everything I know, because that was the reason She lead him to me. Someone else needed to know. In this life, he needed to open up and get it out. Purge some of the darkness and remember some of the goodness of his lives. She lead him to me because I thrive on stories and I'm stubborn enough to do anything to get them.

I want to tell you everything… I wish I could say more. But somewhere in my reading, one might imagine a mental…thing between us girls. Then one might imagine that thing wasn't quite a link…but it was a thing that might restrict what I can say, in any language of the universe.

I wish I could say how much I hope She'll do it again one day. And not lose the damn person she picks this time.

…Or pretend to lose.

I wouldn't want to think like that or ask those types of questions, if this was something I could communicate, but how could _She_ not know?

Incredible ancient madman, eternal runner, soul that needs two hearts to survive everything you could endure… I wish I could tell you how much it all meant. But this isn't a story.

I already told you.

I'm a writer without a story to tell.

I want to tell you so much about my life that centered around realizing how many things within these worlds are 'bigger on the inside'….. but as you already might have guessed. I don't have a story I can tell for that.


End file.
